Late afternoon in early July: went to Queen’s Park with a girlfriend and a ring. Left the park with a Queen of my own.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Pseudo-Tweet
Assignment: Venture to an interesting place and take a few pictures. Then create a Twitter post to accompany the pictures. I couldn't resist...
Late afternoon in early July: went to Queen’s Park with a girlfriend and a ring. Left the park with a Queen of my own.
Late afternoon in early July: went to Queen’s Park with a girlfriend and a ring. Left the park with a Queen of my own.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
"Description"
Asked in my writing class to describe the setting outside my apartment, in order to flex my descriptive muscles. It's a little choppy and disjointed, but I'm pleased with a few points...
"The concrete theatre outside my bedroom window hosts a series of metropolitan shows every day, with performances by a wide variety of cast members and instruments. Alarming thuds and metal clangs waft up into my room each morning, much earlier than I wish to rise, but the snooze button is invariably out of reach. The eleventh-floor balcony seating provides toy-train-set views of the construction worker orchestra below, who play in unison in an effort to bring another steel-skeletoned giant to its feet."
"The concrete theatre outside my bedroom window hosts a series of metropolitan shows every day, with performances by a wide variety of cast members and instruments. Alarming thuds and metal clangs waft up into my room each morning, much earlier than I wish to rise, but the snooze button is invariably out of reach. The eleventh-floor balcony seating provides toy-train-set views of the construction worker orchestra below, who play in unison in an effort to bring another steel-skeletoned giant to its feet."
Monday, July 6, 2009
Assignment 3: Memoir
Write a short memoir about one of the following types of travel experience:
A tense situation
or
An interesting encounter with a stranger
And if there’s something else you want to write about, go for it. But try to keep this under 500 words.
(The initial draft of this work is actually 1200 words, but I needed to pare it down to around 750 max. This is the version I submitted. I feel like I have stripped away some of its depth, but I need to learn to become more poignant.)
The entry doors to the station were propped wide open in an ironic attempt by the Barcelona police department to escape the long arms of the Spanish sun. As I exited my taxicab, the fourth of which I had rode in that day, I gathered my thoughts, courage, and legal papers and strode towards the gaping entrance, concerned that I was about to be swallowed by an administrative and cultural nightmare.
The officer in the reception area was reclined far back enough to put his feet on his desk. A large pot belly and gristly moustache cast a comical and cartoonish, clichéd image, but his eyes and demeanor quieted any chance of my internal laughter.
He had seen our kind too many times before to care about the intricacies of our particular story: he knew all of the internet cafes around town in which backpacks were stolen daily, so my story was not unique.
He greeted me with an audible grunt and a strong smell of sweat and smoke. He begrudgingly reviewed the papers that a friendly, English speaking lawyer had produced for me earlier that day; a detailed list of the items that had been stolen from me and a note written in Spanish, explaining my situation. In order for me to properly submit an insurance claim for losses, I needed a police report of the incident, including an inventory of the items stolen.
The officer completed reading my note, looked up at me, and spoke a full paragraph of Spanish. Prepared for this response, I motioned to him that I did not speak Spanish. Having seen this routine before, the officer quickly shifted gears and we began a game of international charades. It was a fast paced game, and played out as such:
His shoulder-shrugging and open-palmed pointing at the papers on his desk stated, “I’m obviously too busy to help you, look at all the work I’ve been avoiding.”
By pointing at my watch and smiling apologetically, I rebutted with, “But it’ll only take 2 minutes and then I’ll be on my way, allowing you to continue avoiding your duties.”
After little progress in this manner, the officer’s face briefly light up and he changed tactics. Pulling out a map of the city, he circled a spot in the Southern end then pointed around the room, orienting me to our current location. Seeing my understanding, he then circled another area on the map, three-quarters the way across town. Studying the map more closely, I saw that he was trying to shuffle me off to another precinct. The thought of restarting this whole ordeal on the other side of town deflated me, and I was firm in my denial of his request.
Moving swiftly around the desk, he shoved the map in my hand and grasped firmly on my shoulder, beginning to ‘guide’ me out the door. I dug in and easily refuted his attempts to push me around. While he continued to struggle I couldn’t help but imagine the silly scene we were creating and I began to laugh. This only further infuriated the squat officer and he reeled back and punched me square in the chest. My schoolyard training kicked in and I pulled back to deliver a response of my own, but was stopped by the glee in his eyes. As I stood there cocked and ready to fight, I could see the officer mentally licking his chops. He knew that, as soon as I hit him, he had all the authority in the world to make my life hell.
A haltingly loud call came from an unseen back room. A sharply dressed man emerged to see our testosterone-fueled tableau. My heart thudded in my ears but I could still hear the chastising tone the suited man used to speak to the officer. My saviour scanned my lawyer’s note and directed the officer into the seat in front of the computer. Dejected, my pugilist adhered to his orders to fulfill my request.
After a brief but tense period of time, I emerged from the station with my report in hand. Thankful that the entire ordeal was over, and that I was not currently sitting in a cell, the policeman’s seemingly erratic behavior began to make more sense. While I fleetingly traveled from city to city, visiting the beautiful attractions along the way, the locals in each of these areas knew the dangers and darkness that can lurk behind tourist facades. If I, too, were confronted with a seemingly constant stream of naivety and ignorance from visitors, I could understand the desire to fight against it, in whatever way I could.
A tense situation
or
An interesting encounter with a stranger
And if there’s something else you want to write about, go for it. But try to keep this under 500 words.
(The initial draft of this work is actually 1200 words, but I needed to pare it down to around 750 max. This is the version I submitted. I feel like I have stripped away some of its depth, but I need to learn to become more poignant.)
The entry doors to the station were propped wide open in an ironic attempt by the Barcelona police department to escape the long arms of the Spanish sun. As I exited my taxicab, the fourth of which I had rode in that day, I gathered my thoughts, courage, and legal papers and strode towards the gaping entrance, concerned that I was about to be swallowed by an administrative and cultural nightmare.
The officer in the reception area was reclined far back enough to put his feet on his desk. A large pot belly and gristly moustache cast a comical and cartoonish, clichéd image, but his eyes and demeanor quieted any chance of my internal laughter.
He had seen our kind too many times before to care about the intricacies of our particular story: he knew all of the internet cafes around town in which backpacks were stolen daily, so my story was not unique.
He greeted me with an audible grunt and a strong smell of sweat and smoke. He begrudgingly reviewed the papers that a friendly, English speaking lawyer had produced for me earlier that day; a detailed list of the items that had been stolen from me and a note written in Spanish, explaining my situation. In order for me to properly submit an insurance claim for losses, I needed a police report of the incident, including an inventory of the items stolen.
The officer completed reading my note, looked up at me, and spoke a full paragraph of Spanish. Prepared for this response, I motioned to him that I did not speak Spanish. Having seen this routine before, the officer quickly shifted gears and we began a game of international charades. It was a fast paced game, and played out as such:
His shoulder-shrugging and open-palmed pointing at the papers on his desk stated, “I’m obviously too busy to help you, look at all the work I’ve been avoiding.”
By pointing at my watch and smiling apologetically, I rebutted with, “But it’ll only take 2 minutes and then I’ll be on my way, allowing you to continue avoiding your duties.”
After little progress in this manner, the officer’s face briefly light up and he changed tactics. Pulling out a map of the city, he circled a spot in the Southern end then pointed around the room, orienting me to our current location. Seeing my understanding, he then circled another area on the map, three-quarters the way across town. Studying the map more closely, I saw that he was trying to shuffle me off to another precinct. The thought of restarting this whole ordeal on the other side of town deflated me, and I was firm in my denial of his request.
Moving swiftly around the desk, he shoved the map in my hand and grasped firmly on my shoulder, beginning to ‘guide’ me out the door. I dug in and easily refuted his attempts to push me around. While he continued to struggle I couldn’t help but imagine the silly scene we were creating and I began to laugh. This only further infuriated the squat officer and he reeled back and punched me square in the chest. My schoolyard training kicked in and I pulled back to deliver a response of my own, but was stopped by the glee in his eyes. As I stood there cocked and ready to fight, I could see the officer mentally licking his chops. He knew that, as soon as I hit him, he had all the authority in the world to make my life hell.
A haltingly loud call came from an unseen back room. A sharply dressed man emerged to see our testosterone-fueled tableau. My heart thudded in my ears but I could still hear the chastising tone the suited man used to speak to the officer. My saviour scanned my lawyer’s note and directed the officer into the seat in front of the computer. Dejected, my pugilist adhered to his orders to fulfill my request.
After a brief but tense period of time, I emerged from the station with my report in hand. Thankful that the entire ordeal was over, and that I was not currently sitting in a cell, the policeman’s seemingly erratic behavior began to make more sense. While I fleetingly traveled from city to city, visiting the beautiful attractions along the way, the locals in each of these areas knew the dangers and darkness that can lurk behind tourist facades. If I, too, were confronted with a seemingly constant stream of naivety and ignorance from visitors, I could understand the desire to fight against it, in whatever way I could.
Assignment 2: 'Booth' Submission
This Assignemnt is actually a Booth submission, which is read and reviewed by all participants in the onlineclass. This is significantly more nerve-wracking than a typical assignment, but is a good exercise. There is no assigned structure for Booth submissions. For the record, I have received quite positive reviews so far, which is relieving and encouraging.
As I float through hour two aboard my inner tube, rounding one of the many gentle turns in the Nam Song, all my concerns about planning my next destination and budgeting the rest of my travels lazily drift away. The sun, also undeterred by these issues, continues its descent into the West, hiding behind tall trees to give me reprieve from its heated embrace. My focus turns to the temperature of the beer that’s been traveling with me and whether I’ll be able to finish it before the next bartender pulls me ashore. This is stress, Vang Vieng style.
Though Laos has been witness to much strife in recent history, modern Vang Vieng is a peaceful, relaxing setting, where everyone moves at a purposefully slow gait. Able to neutralize the effects of painful bus rides and days overstuffed with activity in South East Asia, Vang Vieng is a perfect destination for those looking to take a vacation from their travels and enjoy the natural beauty and slow pace of a small back-packers oasis. If you are hoping to check off the ‘important’ sights of Laos in rapid-fire succession, then you can skip Vang Vieng over while you exchange buses, but if you are a stop-and-smell-the-roses type, then this small village has an entire bouquet for you to enjoy.
Vang Vieng swelled during the Vietnam war as its airstrip, Lima site 6, was a busy terminal for Allied troops and supplies. Once the war subsided, the area became somewhat of a ghost town, with its few remaining inhabitants living quietly within the structures the conflict erected. For a long time, the town was merely a bus exchange site for those traveling from Northern Vientiane to Luang Prabang in the South. During the 80’s, as backpackers loosened their straps and traversed more of the once-hostile area, Vang Vieng evolved into a refuge for those looking for a peaceful escape. The remote location and natural beauty of the area nurture an introspective mindset, and the town provides plenty of free time to either ponder or explore its boundaries. The village is nestled amongst limestone mountains which give the sense of peace and security, as if the Earth is there to stand guard while you let yours down for a brief stay.
Vang Vieng sprawls out within the valley beside the river that has been its lifeblood, the Nam Song. This waterway has traditionally been the supply route for the small outpost, but it now also provides the areas’ main tourist attraction: inner tubing. Like much else in this village, the tubing has no schedule and very limited organization, yet it is still quite cheap and easy to manage. Simply walk to the proper end of the village (the South) and attach yourself to one of the many local outfits providing tubes and a drive to the mouth of the river, all for about $5 US total. If you feel parched, grab a large $2 BeerLao before embarking and allow the river to keep it cool while you navigate the waters. Tubing can be an adrenaline rush or a peaceful cruise, depending on your whims for the day. If you’re after some excitement, the riverside bars will pull you ashore, skimming you off the river as they fish for your business. The bars allow you to refresh yourself (again) while you wait for your turn on the huge swing ropes or to challenge the current champion of the volleyball court. Mingle with fellow travelers or find a slice of space to the side and take a nap. Departure from each bar is as simple as picking up a vacant tube and gliding back into the current until the next bar beckons you ashore. Days on the water can be as long or short as you wish, and there is no guide or usher anywhere in site to interfere with the pace you set.
The evenings in Vang Vieng are spent in one of the many restaurants in town, recovering from a taxing day of tubing or cave exploring. These open-air cafes consist of rows of elevated platforms on which a table is situated at the foot of a mound of pillows. Plop down into one of the vacant pods, which are all oriented facing the front, where large-screen TVs screen countless episodes of popular North American sitcoms on endless loop. These establishments serve plenty of native dishes, but also make efforts to provide ‘home cooked’ North American fare such as hamburgers and pizza. After a long day in the sun and an inexpensive, tasty meal, it is easy to dose off for a while amongst the pillows. It is therefore a good thing that napping, here, is also tolerated, if not encouraged.
This tranquil oasis may not be for everyone, though, as the traveler looking for native culture and unique Laotian life may be disappointed by the tourist-filled streets and frequent reminders of life back home. Like any outpost that depends on and caters to the tourist, Vang Vieng provides limited opportunities to glimpse into the history or lifestyle of the Laos people. This village is a welcome escape, though, as traveling through South East Asia can be a tiring, overwhelming experience. It is easy to cynically summarize the town as a simple hedonistic tourist stop, but if you accept and embrace the merits of this place, it can reenergize the weary and set a positive tone for further exploration of the region.
On the last day before my departure I sat at the bank of the river, the dusk breeze gently rocking my hammock, and contemplated my next destination and beyond. In a short period of time here I had grown accustomed to a slow, appreciative pace to my days and I hoped that I could maintain this cadence in the larger cities that lay ahead. Surprisingly, when I allowed myself to accept a slower pace, it didn’t long before I began to dread the thought of getting into a faster one.
As I float through hour two aboard my inner tube, rounding one of the many gentle turns in the Nam Song, all my concerns about planning my next destination and budgeting the rest of my travels lazily drift away. The sun, also undeterred by these issues, continues its descent into the West, hiding behind tall trees to give me reprieve from its heated embrace. My focus turns to the temperature of the beer that’s been traveling with me and whether I’ll be able to finish it before the next bartender pulls me ashore. This is stress, Vang Vieng style.
Though Laos has been witness to much strife in recent history, modern Vang Vieng is a peaceful, relaxing setting, where everyone moves at a purposefully slow gait. Able to neutralize the effects of painful bus rides and days overstuffed with activity in South East Asia, Vang Vieng is a perfect destination for those looking to take a vacation from their travels and enjoy the natural beauty and slow pace of a small back-packers oasis. If you are hoping to check off the ‘important’ sights of Laos in rapid-fire succession, then you can skip Vang Vieng over while you exchange buses, but if you are a stop-and-smell-the-roses type, then this small village has an entire bouquet for you to enjoy.
Vang Vieng swelled during the Vietnam war as its airstrip, Lima site 6, was a busy terminal for Allied troops and supplies. Once the war subsided, the area became somewhat of a ghost town, with its few remaining inhabitants living quietly within the structures the conflict erected. For a long time, the town was merely a bus exchange site for those traveling from Northern Vientiane to Luang Prabang in the South. During the 80’s, as backpackers loosened their straps and traversed more of the once-hostile area, Vang Vieng evolved into a refuge for those looking for a peaceful escape. The remote location and natural beauty of the area nurture an introspective mindset, and the town provides plenty of free time to either ponder or explore its boundaries. The village is nestled amongst limestone mountains which give the sense of peace and security, as if the Earth is there to stand guard while you let yours down for a brief stay.
Vang Vieng sprawls out within the valley beside the river that has been its lifeblood, the Nam Song. This waterway has traditionally been the supply route for the small outpost, but it now also provides the areas’ main tourist attraction: inner tubing. Like much else in this village, the tubing has no schedule and very limited organization, yet it is still quite cheap and easy to manage. Simply walk to the proper end of the village (the South) and attach yourself to one of the many local outfits providing tubes and a drive to the mouth of the river, all for about $5 US total. If you feel parched, grab a large $2 BeerLao before embarking and allow the river to keep it cool while you navigate the waters. Tubing can be an adrenaline rush or a peaceful cruise, depending on your whims for the day. If you’re after some excitement, the riverside bars will pull you ashore, skimming you off the river as they fish for your business. The bars allow you to refresh yourself (again) while you wait for your turn on the huge swing ropes or to challenge the current champion of the volleyball court. Mingle with fellow travelers or find a slice of space to the side and take a nap. Departure from each bar is as simple as picking up a vacant tube and gliding back into the current until the next bar beckons you ashore. Days on the water can be as long or short as you wish, and there is no guide or usher anywhere in site to interfere with the pace you set.
The evenings in Vang Vieng are spent in one of the many restaurants in town, recovering from a taxing day of tubing or cave exploring. These open-air cafes consist of rows of elevated platforms on which a table is situated at the foot of a mound of pillows. Plop down into one of the vacant pods, which are all oriented facing the front, where large-screen TVs screen countless episodes of popular North American sitcoms on endless loop. These establishments serve plenty of native dishes, but also make efforts to provide ‘home cooked’ North American fare such as hamburgers and pizza. After a long day in the sun and an inexpensive, tasty meal, it is easy to dose off for a while amongst the pillows. It is therefore a good thing that napping, here, is also tolerated, if not encouraged.
This tranquil oasis may not be for everyone, though, as the traveler looking for native culture and unique Laotian life may be disappointed by the tourist-filled streets and frequent reminders of life back home. Like any outpost that depends on and caters to the tourist, Vang Vieng provides limited opportunities to glimpse into the history or lifestyle of the Laos people. This village is a welcome escape, though, as traveling through South East Asia can be a tiring, overwhelming experience. It is easy to cynically summarize the town as a simple hedonistic tourist stop, but if you accept and embrace the merits of this place, it can reenergize the weary and set a positive tone for further exploration of the region.
On the last day before my departure I sat at the bank of the river, the dusk breeze gently rocking my hammock, and contemplated my next destination and beyond. In a short period of time here I had grown accustomed to a slow, appreciative pace to my days and I hoped that I could maintain this cadence in the larger cities that lay ahead. Surprisingly, when I allowed myself to accept a slower pace, it didn’t long before I began to dread the thought of getting into a faster one.
Assignment 1: Introduction
For this assignment, you will get some hands on practice with both a consumer article and a memoir piece. Perhaps the assignment will help you figure out which you prefer to work with in this course. (You are free, though, to work on any kind of travel writing.)
Think of a trip you took in the last year or so. Then…do both of these things:
Consumer
List three possible angles for a destination article on this place.
Memoir
And…write a short memoir account about one thing you did while there. Try to keep it under 500 words.
Unfortunately my last extensive travel episode ended over two years ago and, while I appreciate the small journeys I have been on lately, all these small voyages pale in comparison to my tour through South East Asia1. After spending ten months in Australia in 2006 my girlfriend and I circled Thailand, Laos, Vietnam, and Cambodia for two months. I have decided to focus on Thailand, and more specifically the Northern city of Chang Mai for my memoir.
Consumer angles for a destination article:
- Bartering for Memories: The sights, sounds (and smells) of Chang Mai’s bustling night markets2
- Hard Labour in Paradise: An inside look3 into the lives of the men and women working around the clock to restore normalcy to Koh Phi Phi after the storm
- Stop Kicking Muay Butt! A Canadian steps in the ring with a master traditional Thai boxing and learns about more than just the taste of leather4
Memoir
Before we even crested the final hill, I could hear what would become the familiar sound of women in the village sifting their rice through hoola-hoop size strainers, dipping the dancing grains in water5 and shaking off the unwanted particles. This wet-whooshing was our welcome to the tiny Palong village in the foothills North of Chang Mai, in the Northern region of Thailand.
Woken from a sticky sleep at 8am that morning6 in Chang Mai, we rose to gather with the other eager backpackers and packed ourselves into the back of an overused, under cushioned truck. After brief introductions, a small breakfast, and three hours of jostling travel, we arrived at our trek’s launching point and stretched our legs for the hike ahead. Once the route and safety measures were explained by our guide, Ricky, we set off for the half-day hike to the village. The walk was enjoyable but unspectacular, and Ricky seemed much more interested in working on his conversational English than educating us on the vegetation or natural surroundings as we walked through the airy forest. All was forgiven, though, when the path finally broadened and the curiously inviting sound of the village women at work trumpeted our arrival.
We had seen pictures of example villages when booking this trek, but the brochure did our destination no justice: the simplicity and squalor of the thatched-roof huts was at once humbling, saddening, and saddening7. The small village consisted of two dozen single-room dwellings built on rickety looking stilts, randomly planted up the side of a lazy-sloping hill. Few of these houses were new and most had settled long ago and were leaning, drawn down toward the river at the foot of the hill. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows on the village and its people8, instilling a sense of peace and longevity for a way of life that we were only getting a glimpse of. Upon noticing our arrival the handful of working women and men briefly straightened their backs for a glimpse of the newest visitors and then indifferently went back to their tasks. The children of the village, though, were much more exuberant in their greeting.
The first of the group, a young boy about eight years old, came barreling down the slope toward us on a bike that was far too large for him. Unable to reach the seat properly, he was forced to swing his body over the frame side to side in order to move the pedals9. This motion, combined with his broad smile and gangly frame, brought back memories of table-top wind up toys and I was transported back to my youth as he drew near. Others followed his lead and we were soon surrounded by children of all ages who pointed and spoke alien words to us, but the atmosphere was decidedly welcoming. We spent the majority of the evening playing and exploring the village, following the lead of our youthful guides as they skipped and shouted through their tour.
We allowed ourselves to live, briefly, in their environment and found it just as fun and wonderful as areas I explored in my youth. It is these encounters that make traveling so enjoyable: the ease of connecting to another human is marvelous, no matter the differences in age, wealth, race, or sleeping quarters.
Think of a trip you took in the last year or so. Then…do both of these things:
Consumer
List three possible angles for a destination article on this place.
Memoir
And…write a short memoir account about one thing you did while there. Try to keep it under 500 words.
Unfortunately my last extensive travel episode ended over two years ago and, while I appreciate the small journeys I have been on lately, all these small voyages pale in comparison to my tour through South East Asia1. After spending ten months in Australia in 2006 my girlfriend and I circled Thailand, Laos, Vietnam, and Cambodia for two months. I have decided to focus on Thailand, and more specifically the Northern city of Chang Mai for my memoir.
Consumer angles for a destination article:
- Bartering for Memories: The sights, sounds (and smells) of Chang Mai’s bustling night markets2
- Hard Labour in Paradise: An inside look3 into the lives of the men and women working around the clock to restore normalcy to Koh Phi Phi after the storm
- Stop Kicking Muay Butt! A Canadian steps in the ring with a master traditional Thai boxing and learns about more than just the taste of leather4
Memoir
Before we even crested the final hill, I could hear what would become the familiar sound of women in the village sifting their rice through hoola-hoop size strainers, dipping the dancing grains in water5 and shaking off the unwanted particles. This wet-whooshing was our welcome to the tiny Palong village in the foothills North of Chang Mai, in the Northern region of Thailand.
Woken from a sticky sleep at 8am that morning6 in Chang Mai, we rose to gather with the other eager backpackers and packed ourselves into the back of an overused, under cushioned truck. After brief introductions, a small breakfast, and three hours of jostling travel, we arrived at our trek’s launching point and stretched our legs for the hike ahead. Once the route and safety measures were explained by our guide, Ricky, we set off for the half-day hike to the village. The walk was enjoyable but unspectacular, and Ricky seemed much more interested in working on his conversational English than educating us on the vegetation or natural surroundings as we walked through the airy forest. All was forgiven, though, when the path finally broadened and the curiously inviting sound of the village women at work trumpeted our arrival.
We had seen pictures of example villages when booking this trek, but the brochure did our destination no justice: the simplicity and squalor of the thatched-roof huts was at once humbling, saddening, and saddening7. The small village consisted of two dozen single-room dwellings built on rickety looking stilts, randomly planted up the side of a lazy-sloping hill. Few of these houses were new and most had settled long ago and were leaning, drawn down toward the river at the foot of the hill. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows on the village and its people8, instilling a sense of peace and longevity for a way of life that we were only getting a glimpse of. Upon noticing our arrival the handful of working women and men briefly straightened their backs for a glimpse of the newest visitors and then indifferently went back to their tasks. The children of the village, though, were much more exuberant in their greeting.
The first of the group, a young boy about eight years old, came barreling down the slope toward us on a bike that was far too large for him. Unable to reach the seat properly, he was forced to swing his body over the frame side to side in order to move the pedals9. This motion, combined with his broad smile and gangly frame, brought back memories of table-top wind up toys and I was transported back to my youth as he drew near. Others followed his lead and we were soon surrounded by children of all ages who pointed and spoke alien words to us, but the atmosphere was decidedly welcoming. We spent the majority of the evening playing and exploring the village, following the lead of our youthful guides as they skipped and shouted through their tour.
We allowed ourselves to live, briefly, in their environment and found it just as fun and wonderful as areas I explored in my youth. It is these encounters that make traveling so enjoyable: the ease of connecting to another human is marvelous, no matter the differences in age, wealth, race, or sleeping quarters.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Writing Exercises
I'm currently enrolled in an online writing class, through the NY Times' Knowledge Network, called Travel Writing I (http://www.writingclasses.com/StudentCenter/home.php). I chose this course because I intend to travel extensively very soon, and I also enjoy writing. The thought of documenting my travels and/or getting published within the areas I am traveling is quite appealing.
Basically, each week I read an online lecture and post a short piece of writing for my instructor's eyes only. The topics move throughout various genres of travel writing and other important informational areas such as pitching ideas etc. I took the course to build better structure to my writing and also to provide motivation to sit at the computer each week and actually express myself through words. I am enjoying the course greatly so far - it is a commitment of time, but I find once I am writing the time flies. Apart from the notebook assignments described above, I will also be posting a longer piece of work for the entire online class to critique. This is a rattling proposition, given the bios, experience, and travels of my classmates, but its a healthy process to get over a fear of others' reaction to my work.
I will post the assignment we are given in each and my response. Keep in mind that the notebook assignments are typically only read by the instructor and we are often working within the constraints of a specific assignment...
Basically, each week I read an online lecture and post a short piece of writing for my instructor's eyes only. The topics move throughout various genres of travel writing and other important informational areas such as pitching ideas etc. I took the course to build better structure to my writing and also to provide motivation to sit at the computer each week and actually express myself through words. I am enjoying the course greatly so far - it is a commitment of time, but I find once I am writing the time flies. Apart from the notebook assignments described above, I will also be posting a longer piece of work for the entire online class to critique. This is a rattling proposition, given the bios, experience, and travels of my classmates, but its a healthy process to get over a fear of others' reaction to my work.
I will post the assignment we are given in each and my response. Keep in mind that the notebook assignments are typically only read by the instructor and we are often working within the constraints of a specific assignment...
Monday, May 25, 2009
Does this make me a writer?
With a lump in my throat and my right ring finger dangling over the backspace key, I boldly step into the ranks of the blogging world.
A little dramatic, I know, but it’s taken me a while to actually put pixels to liquid crystal and I fear I have made a mountain of a molehill in regards to starting this web log. Nonetheless, here is my first of what I hope to be many entries online.
I am not setting any overarching theme (besides my psyche) or structure to these writings but I have set a realistic goal to start: one entry per week minimum. Topics, I suspect, will vary greatly, as will my ability to properly express them. To begin, I am writing for myself, but the idea of one day writing because others are listening is one that is romantic, frightening, and inspiring all at the same time.
I apologize in advance for any structural errors I may make along the way. My colloquial writing style, and overuse of punctuation, mainly the comma, has been borne from a reliance on instant messenger and task-oriented work emails as my main sources of writing exercise for the past decade.
With that bit of self-deprecation and blatant exposure of insecurity aside, I would like to warmly welcome you to this small nook of the internet. I hope you find it cozy.
A little dramatic, I know, but it’s taken me a while to actually put pixels to liquid crystal and I fear I have made a mountain of a molehill in regards to starting this web log. Nonetheless, here is my first of what I hope to be many entries online.
I am not setting any overarching theme (besides my psyche) or structure to these writings but I have set a realistic goal to start: one entry per week minimum. Topics, I suspect, will vary greatly, as will my ability to properly express them. To begin, I am writing for myself, but the idea of one day writing because others are listening is one that is romantic, frightening, and inspiring all at the same time.
I apologize in advance for any structural errors I may make along the way. My colloquial writing style, and overuse of punctuation, mainly the comma, has been borne from a reliance on instant messenger and task-oriented work emails as my main sources of writing exercise for the past decade.
With that bit of self-deprecation and blatant exposure of insecurity aside, I would like to warmly welcome you to this small nook of the internet. I hope you find it cozy.
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